Page 116 of Beneath Your Beautiful
I leaned over the side of the bed, fished the proof out of my robe pocket, and placed the letter on his chest. He tipped down his chin and unfolded the notepaper, holding it up so he could read it. It was corny, but it put a smile on his face.
Dear Killian,
You once asked me what you do for me, so I made a list:
You always put the toilet seat down.
You do all the nasty jobs around the house, like cleaning my hair out of the shower drain.
You give excellent massages, guaranteed to have a happy ending.
Your smoothies are hit-or-miss, but you don’t force me to drink them…so thanks for that.
You support all my crazy ideas, even when I insisted on cutting down our own Christmas tree (in Indiana, Pennsylvania AKA “The Christmas tree capital of the world”). I might have underestimated the difficulty of transporting a twelve-foot Blue Spruce on the roof for three-hundred miles. But hey, the tree looked amazing in our loft. Next year, I say we go bigger.
You didn’t get angry after that unfortunate fender bender with your new Range Rover.
For all these little reasons and the big ones too, you’re my real-life hero. My white knight, my wish on a star, the wings of my heart.
I love you more today than I did yesterday.
Yours,
Eden
“So yeah,” I said, when he folded it up. “I was going to put the letter in your gym bag, so you could find it tomorrow and…well…”
He was off the bed, reaching into the dresser for his boxer briefs. “Get dressed. We need to go.”
My mouth gaped as he casually got dressed like nothing major was happening. “What? But…”
“We have a reservation.”
“I know. But don’t you have something to ask me?”
